Sunday, September 30, 2012

Oh so many milestones have been happening lately with our little Sylvia. Her first camping trip will, sadly, have no photos any time soon, because the few that I did take are stuck in my broken camera. Hopefully they will be able to be retrieved. Until it can be (hopefully) fixed, I am borrowing my niece's camera, so the next milestone of playing with the much-loved bowl and wooden spoon while Mama cooks after crawling from the living room to the kitchen was photographed. Phew. I love these baby days.

Friday, August 10, 2012

There was a battle this evening. A full on war between my Max and Helena. Such a shame, really. But the fight was well worth it. Helena was crowned the winner, as she was the first to get Sylvia to laugh hard enough to get the hiccups after dinner.

Although Max put in a valient effort, Helena won because, well, she started first. It doesn't take much to get this girl rolling.

It's a cruel world, but someone has to fight these battles. And some hearty thumb sucking takes care of those hiccups, so no worries about Sylvia's well-being. She's no worse for the wear.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Friday, July 27, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

When Pigs fly, little girls cry. It was inevitable. I knew from the moment that I saw that 3-day-old starling on the ground in front of me that this was going to be a big lesson for my kids. I knew that Bella would take the release the hardest. I knew I would encounter negative views on starlings and people who thought me nuts for raising one. I knew all the hard work I would have to put into this. But, you see, God gave me a big heart, one that feels empathy above most other emotions. I have an inborn ability to put myself in the shoes of others, humane or not. It is a hard, heartbreaking, emotional life to live, but He made me that way for a reason. So the second that I saw that starling on the ground, I also knew that I had to do all that I could to make sure it made it back into the wild where it belonged as a healthy juvenile. And when that day finally came, I debated over where to release our Pig.

After days of wondering and worrying, figuring, calling, being rejected, and finding no other feasible option, I made the decision to release him on the land where we are building our homestead. I could go back there several times a day and check on him, leave him food and water, and make sure that this attempt at release worked better than the first. And when he was ready, he could fly off and find other starlings on his own. I was sure of that. There are plenty around.

Here is our Pig, ready to GO GO GO! At this point, Bella has run away, determined to be no part of this release. It's too much for an 8-year-old's heart, the letting go.

So Max opens the door of the cage for us. (Thanks to Julie Zickefoose for the use of the cage. I saw many a bird raised and release in this cage in my younger years, and it made such a difference the last two weeks with Pig.)

Pig says "Um, is this for real? Are you really gonna' let me FLY???"

Why, yes, Pig, yes we are. And he did. He flew right up into the trees beside the house, and then he was gone. We left the food and water and would check on him the next day to be sure he made it through the night, but I didn't expect to see him again. He was there, and then he was gone.

Then Bella was there, sneaking around the side of the house to where we let him go, calling, looking. She was hoping beyond hope that he would fly down onto her shoulder, I would say, "Well, I suppose we have to keep him forever," and we would put him back in the car and bring him home.

We talked the talks that go with these things. Life lessons abound in these instances, and you hope that you remembered to include them all in the talks. But in the end, we left without a bird and with a girl, sobbing behind her American Girl Hairstyles book.

She is a girl after her Mama's heart. And that is just alright. The world needs another soft soul or two, in my opinion.

Friday, July 13, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Friday, June 22, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Mama Psychology is not a pretty thing when you have surrogate babies to care for. Especially when they are as fragile as three-day-old starlings, aka pink blobs. No feathers, eyes still closed, cold, and having dropped two stories to the hard yard below. It is painfully apparent how helpless and completely dependent they are. And for a Mama, this strikes a real chord. Baby One, later to be named Pig, came to us on a Friday evening, as the kids and I were in the front yard scrubbing the new van's floor mats. As I turned to go up the stairs, there in front of my feet was this tiny being, naked, and way out of place. "Here we go," I said. I knew what I was in for. There was no doubt what I had to do. Instinct kicks in, and a Mama's instinct is to protect and care for. So starts the journey.

Baby Two showed up the next morning, found by Adam as he left for work. "There's another one out here," he called in as I was shoving soaked dog food and scrambled egg down the first baby's hatch. After several hours of force-feeding the evening before, he was finally gaping.

The second, to be named Chub for a short few hours, would never gape. I gave him a quick look-over. He seemed to be okay. He was twice the size of Pig, and cold. I warmed him quickly in my hands, then in the makeshift nest (toilet paper in a plastic tub) on a heating pad. I started feeding him, and continued throughout the day, although he would not gape. I had to pry his beak open with the tweezers each time. During the next few hours, I noticed that Chub was always on the bottom of the birdy pile and always laying to one side.

Something was definitely off, so in the midst of the every-30-minute feedings, I kept observing. I become nearly sure that he had a broken leg, and when I got the chance to really look him over, my fears were confirmed. After kids were in bed, I checked him, and the leg was so badly broken such a bad location that there was no fixing him. I couldn't bare to think of him suffering any longer, so I gently tucked him in a yogurt cup lined with soft toilet paper, told him I was so sorry that I couldn't fix him, and placed him in the back of the freezer (the most humane way to end his suffering). Rats. I was sick to my stomach and couldn't sleep. Pig was all alone, shivering in his nest, and wouldn't gape for the next day. I had to break the news to the kids. They took it well. I must say that no matter how logical these decisions are, I am ruled by my heart, not my head, and it is never easy to take any life and end it. As a Mama, ending the life of a baby... Well, Mama Psychology just makes that a horror.

So we're left with Pig, who is a pig. He is messy, slinging soppy cat food and pooping every time I feed him, and that is every 30 minutes or so, sun-up to sun-down. And two weeks later, he is no longer a pink blob, but a very rambunctious, fully-feathered near-fledgling. We have moved him to a cage that was so graciously loaned to us by Julie Zickefoose, as he was trying desparately to squeeze out of the handle holes of his box nest.

Today his nest mates fledged. We tracked them down and let him go near them, just across a neighbor's yard from where his siblings and parents were in the mulberry tree with countless other birds. He flew into some weeds, picked at some seeds, then flew to the bottom branches of a cherry and we bid him farewell.

Then my Mama Psychology kicked in. I couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering how he was doing, feeling like I had abandoned him, worrying that a storm might hit during the night,. I was a nervous wreck. With five children, this was hugely symbolic. Was my baby really ready to be out on his own? Had I done all I could to give him what he needed to survive in the wild? Shouldn't I be absolutely sure that he was safe and sound? One day, I'll be doing this with all of my children, and that was so much to process. So I went back a few hours later, just before night and a storm, to check on him, and there he sat, in the next tree over, just out of reach, gaping from above my head. I went back with the box and the kids, and he flew right down to us. It was worth a try, Piggy. He is asleep behind me in his cage right now, with a belly full of meal worms and cat food with freeze dried flies. We'll try again in a few days. Bella was able to eat, and I will be able to sleep, knowing he is safe and warm and dry. No matter how hard I tried to prevent it, this little one is growning on me. I might say I'm quite fond of our Pig. Maybe.

Friday, June 8, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Monday, May 28, 2012

The comment comes constantly. "Boy, you've got your hands FULL!" Every day out shopping for groceries, every Sunday after church, every public event, every much-loved trip to the library. It used to get under my skin. I have had my conditioned responses. The first was "Better full than empty." Then, after a dear friend pointed it out to me, I changed for fear of injuring a soul who may just have empty hands for any number of reasons and wished they didn't. Then came "Yes, full of love!" But oh, that just didn't sum it up. Now I just smile and say, "Yes, I do." I am proud to have my hands full. People do not mean it as a degradation at all. I know that at least most don't. It is just a conditioned response to seeing a Mama with so many little ones crowded around. But I am so blessed to have my hands full of so many things. Countless things, like hope, love, pride, responsibility, integrity, joy, promise, future, fun, strength, wisdom, patience, passion, ability, beauty, projects, messes, God's vast blessings... Yes, I do have my hands full. SO FULL. And I'm thankful that I do.

Friday, May 25, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Friday, May 18, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Friday, May 11, 2012

{this moment} - A Friday ritual inspired by SouleMama. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.